569: More Grammar Gripes

Every year or so I feel obliged to make a statement on behalf of proper grammar in the English language. Before the tongue is finally killed and left to rot in the Pop Culture Wood, I feel that it is the duty of writers long acquainted with the written word to get in a few shots at the would-be murderers. The killers of language are the Usual Suspects, namely the Selfish and Lazy (from here, “Sal”).

The objective of the written word (today the topic is English, but it goes the same for all written languages) is the clear communication of ideas. People who communicate clearly get “A” papers (at least when there used to be marks for excellence save for sport) and promotions, those, like Shakespeare, who communicate new thoughts clearly and are gifted phrase-makers win posthumous fame in posters and coffee mugs. And they also acquire a sort of strange shimmering mythology, especially when most of their life details are cloudy. It was once possible to know little about someone; today we know way the hell too much about everyone, especially the Sals. Still, even, though, like death the arts are a great equalizer. But unlike death, not everyone can do art. Still an equalizer because all the participation trophies on earth cannot make bad art good. “Say so” has the shelf life of its tout.

I believe that the best way to write is to use a method that everyone with a basic education can understand. The idea has always been to choose the best words to string together sentences, then gather the complete sentences and pile them up into paragraphs. If I remember high school correctly, a thesis paper led off with the thesis sentence, which along with a few related sentences formed the thesis paragraph; thereafter each of the support sentences in the thesis paragraph was expanded into whole paragraphs of their own, and if you did it in an orderly fashion from thesis to conclusion nothing less than a “B” would appear on your paper. One need not be extravagantly educated to communicate effectively. The key is to get the basics right via placing yourself on a firm foundation.

But there are bugaboos in the language that cause confusion, and when a writer does not try to correct them, the writer risks looking as well prepared as a Chimp taking on Einstein in an equation smackdown at Math Camp. Imagine your basic Sal as a Chimp wearing soon to be shitted (or is that shat?) in coveralls and taught how to ride a tricycle. (I love animals, but Chimps are low on my list. Leave the disgusting little fuckers alone in Gambia and the Congo–they do not belong in the suburbs. Bonobos are better.)

I believe that common-most grammar troubles are “who v. whom” and “which v. that.” Everyone who reads this knows the difference, and for those who have forgotten, just look up objective and subjective cases in English. Another idea is to buy an elementary school guide (preferably a few decades old) in case you and your education are separated by a vast ocean of decades, as it goes with me. (I am not being facetious, I have a fifth grade primer around, which has helped me to remember certain items because the explanations are simple and clear.) Other old sins, as I’ve mentioned before, but are always worth remembering are the putrid failings that lead a writer to embarrassing situations, such as: “would of,” “should of,” “could of” and the Time to Leave Town humiliation of “intensive purposes” are at the top of that list. In the not yet too dim past the “ofs” caught me out and I’ve still been a bit out of sorts and paranoid ever since. Naturally, these are caused by recalling what we hear and not examining what it looks like on the page until a horrible red pencil screams your unfathomable ignorance. Yet at the same time, it is not a sin to make a mistake, one shouldn’t be afraid to take chances when writing; but it might be if you disregard the persons who explain your errors. Not learning from the past is a Sal thing to do.

There are a great many peculiarities in the language, but this time around I want to discuss the strange magnetic prowess of the letter “a.” A lower case a is a schemy, shadowy figure always on the lookout for enlargement. The word “awhile” almost always appears even when “a while” is proper. I imagine crafty “a” beguiling gullible “while” with fantasies of becoming an important big word should they merge. But, as we all know, there is a difference, yet I have a feeling that within a generation “a while” will get the same red line “all right” sees nowadays, even though “alright” has not been the standard for most of my life.

Diane recently pointed out another case of magnetic a causing a word that probably should not be. It is a paradoxical long-term fad word that has snuck in and is a vexation to persons who understand the basics of proper English. The word is “atop.” It is a clunky word whose objective is to replace the little phrase “on top of.” This can be a huge irritation in the same way a small stone caught in your shoe makes you angry because you do not want to stop, unlace, get the stone and replace the shoe in public. It’s the sort of thing that drains the joy from life, for me it is like seeing a cigarette butt floating in a coffee cup.

Another problem is writers not properly spelling numbers out. News reports use actual numbers, we fiction writers must spell them out. Why? Well, I do not know. And maybe it is due to long exposure to the correct way that makes seeing a 13-year-old look wrong in a story. And even if that is nitpickish of me, I still say that use of “&” in place of and and various textish abbreviations should never be accepted as the standard. They are ugly and lazy looking on the page. There is good writing and there is Hannah Montana writing. No one is thirteen forever. Moreover, I am all for equality, but using “they/them” as a singular pronoun is confusing and stupid. To those people I say stop being self-aggrandizing pricks and prickesses. Why not use that big-ass brain of yours to think of something else; something that doesn’t cause needless annoyance; something that clarifies the material and is not designed to divert attention to the writer.

Anyway, so much for my perhaps Shrewish red penciling and let’s get on with remembering the Week That Was. But first, I’d like to say R.I.P. Scott Adams the late creator of Dilbert. Yes, he did say some stupid things and believed in stuff that I do not, but I am not so mean and hard-hearted to deny him his genius as a comic strip writer or his right to disagree with me. After all, Chanel Number 5 still sells even though Coco was a Nazi collaborator, and Michael Jackson is a hero to many even though it is obvious that he was a pervert to possibly more (including me). Besides, there’s something awfully unworthy about this modern-day sport of mostly anonymous online grave spitting–unless I am to believe that “Hung-like-a-donkee” and other monikers are genuine. Go ahead and decry persons if you must, but, damn it, have the guts to drop the mask when you do it.

The Week That Was featured a wildly left, right, up and down sensibility as always. Doug Hawley (aka, Mr. Mirth or Mirthless) opened the gate on Sunday with his essay It’s a Mystery to Me. It is a charming little bit about the whodunnits and who-wrote-ems of mostly yore. For those of you who missed it, remember Doug has given you an opportunity to return the same flavor of comment he has given you in the past.

The Old Fisherman by newcomer Joe Ducato dropped a line on Monday. It takes you into the universe of the bog and feels southern gothic. When that sort of thing is done right, you are in for a good time. Rest assured Joe got it right.

Tuesday brought A Candid Exchange by Brian Hawkins. Things do not usually work out in the world as seeing a comeuppance is concerned. Yet here, in a way, such is delivered in this funny bit which makes you score one for the little guy. Score it as an 8 by 10 glossy.

Someday soon I will count how many posts our beloved, redoubtable, loyal, kind, delightfully obscene and honest Hugh Cron has produced. Something like a hundred-thirty stories and at least four-, maybe five-hundred wraps must have him up and over the million word mark. Stuart added to that total on Wednesday. Hugh is a master of short titles (rarely exceeding one of two words), adverb free sentences whose adjectives are sparse yet perfect, and strong short active sentences filled with honesty, humor, crisis and irony. His style (or lack of one) is recognizable whenever he brings forth the little hard knock people in life as he hid this week.

Now that I know the meaning of penultimate, I can use it to introduce Are You Going to Kalamazoo? The latest story by Christopher J Ananias, who has made quite a mark for himself on the site in the last year or so (I am crummy with time frames, always been). CJA as I like to call him is fiercely creative in many forms (including poetry and nature photography). And he also has a keen eye and knowledge about the sinners and losers and various little people who litter the roads of life. Another winner by CJA and it is already a guarantee he will be bringing us more and more.

Smile if you are not wearing knickers by Peter Arscott is, wait for it, wait for it, a cheeky thing. It is also one of the reasons why I do not get overly specific with the details of the week’s stories when I bring them back for a bow. It is way too easy to say too much about a short work because, well because it is short. Here it is for the best, like with everyone else, to hit the link and enjoy the work. Nothing here or in the other five will disappoint you–in fact the opposite is in the forecast,

Let’s give them a hand and more importantly, a read, The Writers of the Week That Was.

This week’s list is pretty straight forward. And I hope it inspires many additions. I now present:

Ten Beloved or at Least Admired Film Characters

• Jules by Samuel L. Jackson, Pulp Fiction (best smackdown talker ever; I wish that Q. would make a movie of his further adventures while still possible)
• Jack Falstaff by Orson Welles, The Chimes at Midnight (you often hear about an actor born to play a certain part, I cannot think of a truer case than here. Under-viewed, but as good as anything ever committed to film and is our clip today)
• Frank by Henry Fonda, Once Upon a Time in the West (a genus example of casting against type. One of the coldest blue-eyed villains in the history of film)
• The Sheriff of Nottingham by Alan Rickman (Basil Rathbone did the part well also in the 1930s. I so wanted him to kill Kevin and his mullet hairpiece, but we all know the legend–Rickman and Oldman are possibly the greatest long-term film black hats)
• Nora Charles by Myrna Loy, The Thin Man. (Unlike so many actresses of the time she hung in there with the guys and never once reacted in the silly way male writers so often wrote for female characters.)
• Spud by Ewen Bremner both Trainspotting films (He is as poor and unlucky salt imaginable and yet somehow hangs in there. It takes special talent to make both shitting the bed and job interviewing on speed funny as hell)
• The Bride of Frankenstein by Elsa Lanchester (Along with Myrna Loy, Elsa is my favorite “classic era” actress. She had humour, tremendous eyes and didn’t give a rip about getting fat. Good for her.)
• Roy Batty by Rutger Hauer Blade Runner (Eloquent killer, and “Pris” was pretty cool too. The Blade Runner world, save for the flying cars, is so disturbingly real that I think it is coming, but maybe in fifty years or so. Roy was a vicious yet poetic bastard, like the fellow)
• Amelie by Audrey Tatou (Fantastic blend of child, woman and generous dreamer. No one matches this character as far as I can tell. Her own universe inside Paris)
• For you

Leila

Although I believe that there shouldn’t be universal fandom for everyone, the Bard included, this is an awfully good performance by Mr. Welles taken from a damn great drama by a damn fine Mr. Shakespeare. Jack Falstaff might be the best fictional character ever conceived. Between him and the Melancholy Dane, I figure. So he gets the clip, if not Hal’s love.